


says it was busy being a nymph, whatever  that means

by fruitbattery



Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Other, but no one orders it to do anything it doesn't want to do, due to the soldier's you know. orders thing, most of the violence is done to wood, please read the prompt for clarity on the level of warnings here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:08:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24332587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitbattery/pseuds/fruitbattery
Summary: The Toy Soldier is a (mostly) immortal being who has been alive for millennia. How does it view sex? It's had a significant amount, presumably, with its experiences in the City, but how does it regard that experience for itself?
Relationships: Drumbot Brian & The Toy Soldier, Jonny d'Ville & The Toy Soldier, Jonny d'Ville/Gunpowder Tim, Nastya Rasputina & The Toy Soldier, jonny d'ville/everyone (offscreen-ish)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 167
Collections: Stowaways NSFW 2020





	says it was busy being a nymph, whatever  that means

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [quantumducky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumducky/pseuds/quantumducky) in the [stowaways_nsfw_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/stowaways_nsfw_2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> The Toy Soldier, on account of having been a nymph, is one of two Mechanisms with canon sexual experiences. I am DYING for a fic addressing what it is like to have sex with the Toy Soldier, and/or how the Toy Soldier itself thinks about this kind of thing. (For these and all related purposes, let's assume it's capable of consent.)
> 
> Explanation of conflicting archive warnings: This is my way of indicating that I don't actively _want_ that included, but I feel like it might be difficult to avoid at least talking about to some extent, depending on how you approach the prompt, and I don't want to limit you.
> 
> DNW: first-person POV

The Toy Soldier doesn’t view sex differently than it views anything else, not really. Most real-people activities tend to skew on the side of slightly strange and alien to it, and that list includes sex. People have such strange ways of being, such rules to follow and tear their hair out over and deliberate for hours. It’s personally most comfortable just sitting and whittling, or wielding a gun on a battlefield. It even likes when it gets thrown out of the airlock by Jonny. It wouldn’t identify his strange animosity towards it as a real war, but at least he never orders it not to resist him, and the violence is a familiar routine. It  _ knows _ being a combatant, after all. A proper Soldier.

It’s not exactly sure why it obeys orders the way it does, honestly. It started during the Moon War, its first real war. It remembers, vaguely, the first time it received an order and did not follow. The Lennie it’d been ordered to shoot lined up a rifle and killed its comrade, and the dismay and fury on the faces of those around it convinced it never to disobey again. It still doesn’t know why it feels the way it feels when it sees someone is disappointed in it. It thinks perhaps the word for the sensation is “pain”– mostly in the chest area– but this “pain” seems like something that shouldn’t apply to wood. It feels it anyway.

Improving people’s moods, on the other hand, makes it feel strange in a different way. It feels almost lighter than it should, like it needs to grab onto something in order to not float away. It asked Ivy about this once. She had laughed, and it had felt the feeling then and there. She’d said that it was statistically improbable, if not impossible, for it to float away, given its density, surface area, and coefficient of friction. It doesn’t know what those words mean, but it’s always happy to hear her talk. She’d explained that it was probably feeling love. It still hasn’t quite worked out what that means, either, but from the way its fellows use it it’s probably a good thing, so it doesn’t worry.

It knows, on a conceptual level, what sex is. It’s accidentally witnessed a lot of it on the Aurora. Its tendency to stand stock still and silent when not actively Doing Something, along with its inability to tell what’s happening behind closed doors it needs to get through, has led to many pillows and bullets aimed at it by sweaty, flustered people. More often than not, the thrower or shooter will Order it to get out. It’s entirely unnecessary, of course– it knows by now that people Don’t Like when it does that, and it even mostly remembers to knock and/or announce its presence more often these days. Sometimes, it feels like they’re just ordering it around because they can.

It’s funny, though, what you can become if you spend long enough practicing. The Toy Soldier’s position on the Aurora has become, over time, the Recipient and Executor of Orders, and so it follows them when they come in. It knows what Jonny thinks of people who don’t do their jobs.

Off the Aurora, one time, the Soldier actually finds itself having sex! Lots of it, in fact. It signs up for a job described only as “nymph,” and it thinks that sounds pretty fun! When it’s told to go with this nice lady, here, and be her escort for the evening, it happily complies. It likes company! It likes fancy parties, and observing people.

It doesn’t like when the woman takes it back to her room afterwards, and undresses it, and then gets all scowly at what she finds in its pants. “What is this?” she asks, “why is there nothing here, I paid for a  _ full evening’s work! _ ”

“I Can Perform A Multitude Of Tasks, Ma’am-”

“Shut it! I’m returning you to Narcissus. We need to have a talk.” And she drags it out of her room, pants still undone and at its knees, and it doesn’t understand. It just wanted to do what she wanted, but how could it do that if it still didn’t know what that was?

When the woman leaves the Soldier alone with Dionysus, he looks at it like Jonny looks at it before he starts one of his airlock games. “So. What should I call you?”

“My Friends Call Me The Toy Soldier, Sir!” It snaps a smart salute, and Dionysus rolls his eyes. 

“Stop that,” he says, and it does. “Don’t know why you’ve gotta be so damned cheerful all the time. Shit like that really scares off the customers, you know.” He stops to take a puff of his Lotus pipe, coughs, continues. “Now, Soldier, it’s come to my attention that your… body, shall we say, has some more… unusual properties than the average City citizen, is that right?”

“I Am Made Of Wood!”

“Right.” He rubs his forehead in a way the Soldier has come to understand indicates “exhaustion” or “frustration.” Negative things. “Look, I would  _ not _ go flaunting that around the City, you hear? People’ll pay some mighty high prices for wood these days.”

“That’s Alright, I Can Just Regrow It! Would You Like To See?”

“No. No, I really would not, Soldier. Can I call you Soldier?”   
  


“You Can Call Me Whatever You Like! I Don’t Mind!”

For the first time, Dionysus looks… almost pleased. “Good. That’s the sort of attitude you should have with clients. They like that sort of thing.”

“Please Explain To Me What I Should Be Doing With Clients, Dionysus! I Do Not Think The Last One And I Had The Same Expectations, And I Would Not Want That To Happen Again!”

Dionysus’s mouth hangs open for a moment too long before he seems to notice, and shuts it definitively. “Right. So. Your job, here, is to provide clients with companionship, for however long they pay for. Often, this will involve sexual favors. Now, am I to understand that when your latest client went to undress you, she found you not up to her standards?”

The Soldier hasn’t been given a chance to pull its pants back up, so it simply stands, showing Dionysus the smooth, featureless join between its legs and torso. “I Told You I Was Not Human!”

To his credit, Dionysus only flinches a little. “Please pull your pants up, Soldier. I see what the problem could be here…” He pauses. “Did you say you could regenerate lost… matter? Does that extend to grafting?”

“I Can Give Myself A Penis, Yes! Although It Would Rather Get In The Way During Parties, I Think, And It Takes Too Long To Do On Demand.”

Dionysus furrows his brow. He’s clearly thinking hard. “Well, alright. I could keep you in the House, for people to purchase time with you on an individual basis, and you could just keep one genital configuration. If you carved yourself… a hole, would it stay open?”

“If I Wanted It To, Yes. You’re Taking This A Lot Better Than Most People Would, I Must Say.”

Dionysus chuckles. “Live in the city long enough, and you’ll get used to weird, Soldier.”

And so the Soldier is installed in a small room, off a hallway with many other such rooms. It spends a day or so carving before Dionysus starts renting it out, grafting on a smooth approximation of a human penis carved from its leg. It watches its leg regenerate, mildly interested as always, as it does the rest of the required carving. Dionysus pops in to see the result at the end of the day, and after asking more times than is frankly necessary if it’s  _ sure  _ the process didn’t hurt, compliments it on its skills. And so the Toy Soldier spends its days for many years with all sorts of people, a real lowest-low to highest-high situation.

Some people are rough, some are gentle. Dionysus cottons on quickly that if a customer is looking for a sympathetic ear, the Soldier is the place to go– it’ll listen for hours on end, won’t judge if you cry, and really doesn’t care how you choose to spend your purchased time. It only sees Dionysus rarely, now– he prefers to distribute pay via lackeys more often than not– but when he does come by, he loves to comment on how much money the Soldier is saving him in food and water costs.

The time wears on, and a customer inevitably discovers that the Soldier will obey all orders.  _ That _ brings a certain different clientele, a violent one– it doesn’t mind the violence, per se, although the time it takes to regrow, alone, after angry men shoot it, does cut into its paid hours. Nothing Demanded of it, other than the shooting thing, is much different than what it would willingly do for a client if asked. It doesn’t like that much– the assumption that it won’t do what these violent, angry, desperately sad people ask of it, the idea that it must be unavoidably Ordered in order to perform, to satisfaction, the job it is, by now,  _ very _ good at. Aside from that, not much changes after the word gets out– it was already expected to perform whatever was asked of it, so no one really notices the specific nature of its obedience unless it’s pointed out. The Soldier likes it better this way.

On its days off, it likes to use its accumulated pay to roam around the City and purchase weaponry to shoot people with– it is, after all, a Soldier. It’s gathered that this is an acceptable pastime, and really, the only punishment for crimes in the City is not effective at all against it. The first time someone attempts to harvest its brain, the rumor mill the next day suggests that Hades is not at all happy with being brought a hunk of pink and gray wood for their Acheron, although it’s said that they’d ordered it to be left in their personal chambers. No one tries after that.

When the rest of the Aurora’s crew comes screaming back into its life, razing the House and the Acheron and everything it’s known for the past century or so, it would laugh if it could. The sight of Ashes setting the City ablaze sets a smaller fire burning in its wooden heart, one that won’t spread or go out. It knows not to hug them by now, not if it values its limbs. It settles for a salute instead, which Ashes returns with a cheeky grin and a wink. It feels in danger of floating away again.

It’s nice to be home.

  
  


Sometimes, the crew involve it in their sexual escapades. It makes it clear early on that it likes making people happy, so it gets roped into some interesting scenes. Interestingly, one of the people most often involved in these scenes is Jonny, despite his frequent attempts to be rid of it.

Brian comes into its workshop one day, leading a grumpy-looking Jonny by the hand. “Toy Soldier! Could we get your help with something?”

“Sure Thing, Brian! Just Please Warn Me If I’m To Be Thrown Out An Airlock.”

This time it’s Jonny who answers. “No, in fact I’m not going to throw you out of an airlock for at least a week after this, could we get on with it?”

“Right!” Brian claps his hands. “I’d like you to hold these–” he holds out what the Soldier recognizes as a dildo and vibrator– “and fuck Jonny with the long one when I say so, and hold the vibrating one on his dick. He’ll be tied down, so don’t worry about violence, but the one essential part of this is: do not listen when he tells you to stop, unless he says “red.” If you haven’t heard “red,” please ignore him completely, but if you do, stop immediately.”

The Soldier nods, and watches Brian help Jonny up onto a table and strap him down securely. After a few moments of what the Soldier is pretty sure is known as “nonverbal communication,” Brian gives the word, and the Soldier steps up. It starts first with the vibrator, at Brian’s instruction, and then with the dildo, and it adjusts its pace to his specifications and keeps it there tirelessly.

It knows the signs of pleasure, from its time as a Nymph– knows the subtle orders from a spasming body as well as it knows the barked Orders of a commander. After his first orgasm, Jonny’s body starts giving off Stop orders, but it’s seen this before– the brain wants, but the subconscious body doesn’t. By the fifth orgasm, though, he’s started to verbally beg for it to stop, and it looks at Brian for confirmation. “Keep going,” he says, eyes locked on Jonny, “he and I talked about this. I find it hard sometimes to keep fucking him when he’s like this, but every time he assures me afterwards that he wants to know what it would be like if I kept going. He’ll safeword if he needs to. I made sure of that.” 

The Soldier nods, satisfied, and turns its head back to Jonny. It can’t help but feel a little of that floaty feeling, looking at him– he’s thrashing as best he can against the restraints, which really isn’t much at all, and his face and chest and cunt are incredibly flushed. They’re past pink honestly, more in the territory of–

“Red,” croaks Jonny, and the Soldier stops immediately, lifting the vibrator and stilling the dildo. Brian rushes up and undoes the restraints on Jonny’s arms, so the Soldier tries to help on his ankles. It’s not very useful, though– damn clumsy wooden fingers– and Brian ends up undoing all the restraints before it can even get its hands around one of them.

“Jonny, I Am Going To Pull The Dildo Out Now, Is That Okay?”

He nods, and the Soldier pulls it out gently. He winces, but by this point Brian’s got Jonny curled into his arms, so the Soldier isn’t too worried. 

“I Could Clean Up, If You Two Would Like! It Seems You May Want Time Alone.”

“Thank you, Toy Soldier,” murmurs Brian, and he scoops a very floppy Jonny into his arms and leaves the room. It hums to itself as it brings the toys to a sink and washes and wipes them down, going to the table next, and while it’s at it maybe the floor, and before it knows it the whole room is shining.

Right. That was a good day’s work. Back to whittling.

  
  


Sometimes, the other Mechanisms like to have fun with the Soldier. They’ll Order it to spin in circles until it trips and falls down, or to paint itself blue and stick its tongue out. Granted, this mostly happens in its early days with the crew, but it rather resents it. There’s a  _ reason _ it follows orders, and none of them ever ask for that reason or appreciate all the Soldier brings to the table. It’s a narrative device for them, or a fun gag, or at worst, a way for someone to get out their anger by shooting at something that won’t cry in pain and fall over. Something that doesn’t Feel.

Sometimes, after one of these sessions, the Soldier will spend hours reassembling itself. It knows where all the chips of wood were blasted from on its body, after all, and replacing them makes it easier to regenerate the holes. Once, Nastya wanders in while it’s going around picking up the chips.

“Need any help?”

“I Do Not Require Help, Princess, But I Would Appreciate The Company If You Would Like!”

She smiles, and it feels floaty. “Sure thing, Captain!” Immediately, she starts hunting for more pieces of the Soldier, and with her flexible human hands she soon has a sizable pile. It had been Tim, this time, angry over something the Solder still isn’t sure it understands. He’s gone now, though, and Nastya is holding handfuls of the Soldier’s body and smiling. It knows that none of the wood had belonged to its heart– it’s not red– but the chips she’s holding might as well have been its whole heart anyway. “Alright, where does this one go?”

After about half an hour of working in comfortable silence, Nastya is the one to break it first. She’s speaking slowly, and it’s similar to how she sounds when she’s trying to get Jonny not to shoot her for asking. “So… how does it feel? When you do... that?” The Soldier is in the middle of regrowing the wood in its shoulder around the tiny recovered fragment, held in place by Nastya’s nimble fingers. It thinks for a minute, as the crack seals up completely and disappears.

“Well, It Doesn’t Hurt! Not In The Way You Think Of It, I Think! Sometimes It Feels Like Something Is Missing, And That Makes My Chest Feel Heavy, But I Don’t Think It Hurts. Right Now, Though, It Doesn’t Really Feel Like Anything, Because I Am Not Missing Any Limbs Or Other Parts Essential For Function!”

Nastya nods absentmindedly, and holds up another piece. “Where does this go?”

It points to a place high up on the inside of its left thigh. Nastya’s eyebrows raise. 

“And you’re…. comfortable with that?”

“Yes! I Am Perfectly Fine. Why Do You Ask?”

She sits down next to it, and holds the chip in the correct orientation. “It’s just… when I do maintenance on Brian, which I do a lot, he always gets awkward when I get close to this area. It’s a sex thing for him.” The leg seals up, and she holds up another chip. The Soldier points to its knee, and they repeat the process. “Now, I’m in a committed relationship with a machine, so this might be cliché, but human sexuality is  _ weird. _ You’d think that as long as one understood the context wasn’t sexual, one wouldn’t get embarrassed, but  _ noooooo _ . Human emotions just  _ have _ to make it weird.” Another chip– the small of its back. “I guess you never had to worry about that, huh?”

“Well, I Don’t Think I Do. The Emotions Part, That Is. The Sex Part, Though– Did You Know I Was A Nymph In The City?”

“Yeah, I heard, but Jonny wouldn’t say what that meant. I got the feeling he didn’t want to think about you… being one.”

“Well, I Provided Sex In Echange For Money. I Think He Was Probably Worried About The Following Orders Thing For Me.”

Nastya’s lips press together in a thin line. “Yeah, well, I’d be worried about that too. I don’t want any of the crew to get taken advantage of.”

“Oh, Don’t Worry! No One Took Advantage Of Me In A Way I Could Not Stop If I Wanted! Remember, I Am An Immortal With A Gun!” It grins in the way it knows people other than the Mechanisms really don’t like. “And I Liked The Work! I Made People Happy, I Think. That Is What Dionysus Said!”

Nastya’s mouth unclenches, but she still looks troubled. “Right. Well, did you get anything out of it?”

“I Got Lots Of Credits To Spend On Guns And Fancy Uniforms And–”

Nastya sighs. “Not what I meant. Did it make you feel… good? Physically, or mentally?”

“Physically, I Can’t Feel Anything! Mentally, Well, I Like Making People Feel Good!” It’s as genuine as it’s ever been, which is to say completely, but Nastya’s brow still furrows. It smooths out presently, though, and that makes the Toy Soldier glad.

“Well, I’ll take your word for it. And unlike some people, I actually think your word means something.” The pair continue working until each chip is carefully restored to its place, and each bullet stuck in the wood has been extracted or expelled. Nastya disappears for a bit and comes back with some rags– one abrasive, one smooth– and many bottles and cans. “Would you like a new paint job, Soldier? A polish? Some sealant? We could do a spa day!”

The Soldier has still not figured out what a spa day is, despite centuries of living with Tim, but it won’t say no to a new paint job. Nastya is careful, precise, and artistic about it, taking the Soldier’s direction and suggestions. When the paint is dry and she spreads sealant over it to keep the color in place, she exhibits no hesitation in polishing any part of its body.

Human sexuality, right? Weird. It’s just glad Nastya thinks the same way.

  
  


If it thinks about it, it’s truly weird how much of the sex the crew involves the Soldier in is focused on Jonny. Yes, he is what it has come to understand is referred to as a “brat,” and often needs the hand of someone who’s capable of stonewalling him as long as he needs, but it’s curious why they don’t bring Ashes in to wrangle him. Or maybe sometimes they do, and they just don’t invite it. That would be fine. Anyway, though, Jonny is almost wholly different on the occasions that the Soldier is brought in on the crew’s sexual experiences.

It starts intense, as it always does. Tim pokes his head into the Soldier’s current workspace, and it pauses in its whittling to wave him a cheery hello. It’s working on a replica of the human skeleton, this time– a nice decoration for its quarters.

“Lovely to see you, Soldier! Would you mind keeping an eye on Jonny when I bring him in here later? It’s one of those days.”

Normally, the Soldier would have no idea what he means, but it’s pretty sure this is like something that’s happened before. “Sure Thing! Could You Please Have Lady Aurora Warn Me, Though? The Last Time This Happened You Broke What I Was Carving.”

Tim awkwardly rubs at the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish. “Yeah, sorry about that, I’ll ask her to send you a ping when it starts.”

“Thank You! I Look Forward To It!”

And so, when it hears the gentle chime it’s selected for its ping noise, the Soldier calmly sets down its chisels and knife on a high shelf that the vulnerable squishy people are unlikely to attempt to copulate on, and packs the delicate wooden rib it’s nearly finished with into a drawer. It tries to remember the feedback Jonny had not-so-gently given it about not looking “creepy,” but it only succeeds in dithering for a few seconds before the door bangs open.

What comes through is not immediately identifiable as two people, especially given those people’s marked propensity towards dressing  _ remarkably _ similar. It’s a blur of brown coats and brown hair and about eight belts between the two of them, before the Soldier’s wooden eyes manage to focus. Tim can’t seem to stop kissing Jonny long enough to maneuver him for more than a second, but he sure is trying, one hand around Jonny’s throat and one in his hair, yanking him around. Jonny seems to be attempting to do real damage to Tim’s back with his nails, but it’s not working through the multiple layers of clothing, and then Tim’s got Jonny’s back against the wall, and it all calms down a bit.

Just a bit.

Tim’s mouth is on Jonny’s throat and it’s all a bit hard to follow, but Tim seems to be fiddling with something between them, and then suddenly one of Jonny’s belts is in his hand. The Soldier is a tad confused as to what its role is here, until Tim produces a staple gun from somewhere. 

“You, Jonny,” Tim shoves the belt in Jonny’s mouth and holds up one end to the wall, “are going to stay here until you can stay quiet and behave. We can’t have you acting like a feral cat all the time.” Working quickly, he staples each end of the belt to the wall of the ship, muttering quick apologies and promises of repair to the Aurora with each sharp  _ kachunk. _ Jonny snarls and reaches up to rip the belt out of the wall, but Tim’s put too many staples in for him to manage, and then Jonny’s arms are over his head and belted to the wall as well.

Over Jonny’s noises of struggle, Tim turns to the Soldier. “Alright, buddy, you know the drill. Can you slice the belts when he stops fighting, then help him undress and get into these cuffs? Please have him kneel by you until you think he’s ready for us. He should be leaning against you, and only nod or shake his head when spoken to, alright?”

The Soldier snaps a smart salute and grins. Tim pops a lazy salute and a big grin right back, before turning back to Jonny. “Now, make sure to be good for our friend here, and don’t try anything funny. I’m expecting a good report when I get back, alright?” He leans in and scrapes his fingernails lightly down from Jonny’s wrists to his hips, then leans in to bite at his neck. One hand goes to hold his hips to the wall, and one hand unbuttons Jonny’s pants with such force that the button pings across the room, and then Tim shoves his hand inside and does  _ something,  _ all while still buried in Jonny’s neck. Jonny is crying out the best he can, strangely warped by the fact his mouth is still held open by the wide strip of leather. He struggles in vain against the restraints, the belt in his mouth making it impossible to lower himself enough to get his arms out of the restraints behind his head. If the Soldier could feel such emotions as “mesmerized,” it’d be feeling them now.

Tim pulls back, and the Soldier can see a little blood welling from bite marks on the First Mate’s neck. Tim’s hand emerges from Jonny’s pants, and his fingers are visibly sticky. “Clean me off– oh, wait. You can’t.” Ignoring a frustrated growl, Tim pops his fingers in his own mouth and sucks them clean, putting on a show that the Soldier understands means ‘wow, this tastes really good, and I want everyone to know it.’ Leaving Jonny panting behind him, he turns to face the Soldier.

“Okay, you can ask Aurora to ping me when you say he’s ready, alright?” The Soldier nods, and Tim turns to Jonny and blows a kiss. “Bye now! Have fun!” Tim practically swishes out the door, which shuts behind him with a bang.

“ _ Let me out, Soldier _ .” The words are muffled around the makeshift gag.

“I Know You Do Not Mean That, First Mate Jonathan!” Something giddy bubbles up in its chest at the enraged noise he makes at the title. “At Least, I Hope So! We Both Know How I Feel About You Ordering Me Around, And I Suspect You Feel The Same!”

Jonny doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t do it again, either.

Minutes pass– minutes of squirming against restraints and ineffectually squeezing his thighs together. The Soldier takes the time to really look at him– not being able to close his mouth means he’s got a little string of drool started, on its way to mingling with Tim’s drying spit and his own drying blood on his neck. His pants are unbuttoned but still up. He sort of looks like an art piece, maybe one Ashes might steal in a grand museum heist.

It’s never had great impulse control. “You Sort Of Look Like A Piece Of Art!”

“Fuck you,” spits Jonny, but there isn’t much malice in it anymore. Hard to be, with him practically gagging on leather. 

“No Thank You, Mr. D’Ville! You Know That Is Not Why I Participate!”

They lapse back into silence for a few minutes, and Jonny’s struggling weakens slightly. Eventually, he speaks again, haltingly, forming his words carefully through the gag.

“So why…  _ do _ you participate?”

The Soldier has to think for a minute. It hasn’t thought about this in far too long, and honestly, it’s surprised he even asked, with his track record. “Well, It’s Always Made Me Feel Good To Make Other People Happy! Also, I Like Spending Time With You When You Are Not Trying To Airlock Me!”

“Why?”   
  
“Why What? You Will Have To Be More Specific!”

He grumbles, but manages to spit through the gag, “Why do you like spending time with  _ me _ ?”

His voice is quiet, but his eyes are locked onto the Soldier intently. It hopes he’s feeling OK. “Well, You Care About Making Everyone Happy, Even If You Won’t Say It! You Love Violence As Much As I Do! As Far As I Can Tell, You Are Funny, Even If I Am Still Not Entirely Sure What That Means! You Take Care Of Your Crew, And–”

“Alright. I get it.” His voice has rather a choked quality. “I think I’m ready to try kneeling now, if you don’t mind.”

The Soldier nods, and moves to get its designated knife for this purpose. “How Soon Are We Landing Planetside, Do You Know? I Would Hate To Ruin Your Belts Without Replacements.” It finds the knife, hefts it, returns.

“Please, TS, if you don’t think I have dozens more belts in storage, you’re mistaken.”

“That’s Actually A Little Weird!”

“Coming from you, that should be a wakeup call.” He grins up at it the best he can. “But it won’t be.”

It slashes his head free of the wall, then gently tips him forward to cut his arms loose. Jonny almost falls into it, and it extends its arms to catch him. “Thanks. Could we just… stand here a second?”

“Sure Thing, First Mate!”

“Don’t make me shoot you.”

“It Really Wouldn’t Do Much To Stop Me!”

When Jonny is ready, he starts to slip off his jacket. With each piece of clothing shed, the Soldier takes it, and folds it, and places it on a table neatly out of the way. He starts to sink to his knees, but the Soldier stops him with a carefully telegraphed hand on the shoulder. (Touching Jonny d’Ville without warning is firmly on the Soldier’s Do Not Do list.) “Do You Need Anything? A Cushion? Makeup Remover? Are You Alright To Start?”

Jonny smiles. “Nah, I want my eyeliner all over everyone’s thighs and faces. S’part of the fun. I’d like a pillow though, creaky knees aren’t much fun in any part of my life.” 

The Soldier reaches behind itself to get a pillow, swiveling its arm to the side and all the way back around without looking. Jonny grimaces. “Fuck, that never gets less disturbing.” The Soldier just drops the cushion onto the floor at Jonny’s feet and reaches for the cuffs. It's been a while since he’s physically run away from it to avoid a conversation, but best to be on the safe side. It’ll need to address his comment once he’s on the floor.

“Stay Still!” It walks around him to stand behind at a respectful distance, but still close enough to draw his arms back and cuff them together at the wrists. Walking back to the front, it gently supports him under the armpits as he kneels, unable to support himself. “Is That Good?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright! Please Do Not Call Me Disturbing If You Wish To Continue This! It Is Not Clear If You Want Me Around, And You Need To Want Me Around For Me To Stay! Understood?”

Jonny doesn’t meet its eyes, but he sounds…. like less of an asshole than usual. “I’m sorry, won’t happen again. Didn’t realize you wouldn’t like it. Bit stupid.”

“If Anyone Is Going To Call You Stupid Tonight, It Will Be Purely In A Sexually Humiliating Or Degrading Way, Jonathan! Do Not Be Premature!” Jonny wordlessly grumbles again, but lets the statement lie. Seeing him, already fairly docile and kneeling, the Soldier is seized with a sudden urge to kiss him on the head. So it does, earning a renewed wave of annoyed muttering, but no real protest. It walks around to his left so he can lean on the side of its leg, and starts up the gentle scritching motion on his hair that will send him the rest of the way into what the crew refers to as his “zone,” and settles down to wait.

Jonny’s leaning turns a bit more towards slumping, as the minutes pass, and he sort of pushes his head into the Soldier’s hand when it stops petting his hair. The Soldier looks down at him, feeling its floaty feeling, and sees him unfocused and soft. “Are You Ready?”

He nods, and the Soldier asks the Aurora to ping Tim, and pretty soon the room fills back up with crew members. Brian hauls Jonny bodily onto a table and holds his arms over his head so Raphaella can sit on his face, leaving him open for Marius to fuck and for Ivy to fuck Marius and it all blurs together into a familiar mishmash. The Soldier prepares its tray of snacks and sets it down just outside of the Fuck Zone, and the snacks are gratefully snatched up by many hands. 

Eventually, it finds itself fading slightly into the background as Jonny Day continues, but it’s fine with that. Its crew has been made happier with its assistance, after all.

  
  


The bridge is quiet, the only noises the quiet hum of Aurora’s engines and the soft shifting of Brian in the pilot’s seat. The endless, star-flecked universe stretches out beyond the viewports. This is one of the Soldier’s favorite places on the ship– it rather enjoys the sensation of feeling smaller than it is, even if it’s not quite sure what property of this place enables that. Earlier, the feeling had been quite interrupted by what it recognized as Miss Rasputina’s voice through the speakers, but now the calm is absolute.

Brian speaks.

“Soldier, how are you feeling? I know today was a little rough for all of us.”

It doesn’t turn from its position staring out the window, but its words are perfectly clear. “I Thought, Before Today, That I Was Beginning To Understand Real Relationships. But After That?” It gestures vaguely at the speakers, out of which the noises of makeup sex had poured not hours earlier. “I Have No Possible Idea Why Anything That Happened Today Happened In The Way That It Did.” Seeing Brian about to respond, it continues. “And Furthermore, I Find That I No Longer Have Much Desire To Understand It.” It exhales a wooden sigh and a puff of sawdust. “I Believed Miss Rasputina And I Shared Something Of A Confusion Around Human Sexual Relations, But Apparently That Has Been Disproven.”

Behind it, Brian snorts. “Soldier, neither Nastya nor Aurora are human at all! You think she has any grasp on what’s “normal?” You know how many humans and otherwise would laugh, disbelieve, lock her up or execute her for who she chooses to love?”

The Toy Soldier feels like putting its head in its hands– it’s a move it’s seen the crew do many times when they’re at a loss– but it refrains in favor of remaining lost in the view. “So You’re Telling Me Love Is A Choice Now? Tim Told Me It Was Not. I Do Not Think I Am Cut Out For This.” It has that bad feeling in its chest again. It would like to leave, but that would be rude to Brian, so it stays.

Brian’s voice is gentle. “Everyone on this crew has a different definition of love, Soldier. Everyone in the universe does, even if they don’t know what exactly their own definition is.” He screeches a bit as he folds up out of the pilot’s chair and approaches an adjacent viewport, gazing out at the stars alongside the Soldier. “And among the universe in general? Our definitions are pretty fucking weird. So I don’t think you have to define your own feelings by anyone else, friend. You’ve lived–” he catches himself– “existed long enough for that privilege, at least.” He smiles. “And as for sex? Trust me, there are so many people who live long, long lives, and never figure out quite how it ‘works’. You’re not alone.”

At this, the Soldier is able to look away from the viewport finally. It feels once again, not in any tangible way but a feeling all the same, the rumble of the engines under its feet. 

“Thank You, Mr. Drumbot. You Have Given Me Much To Think About.” It looks at him, finally, and smiles when it notices his smile. 

“Don’t worry about it, TS. I’ll let you in on a secret.” He leans in closer. “No one on this crew has anything more figured out than you do, not really. We’re all asshole immortals blundering through space and time, and either simply not learning anything or actively refusing to learn anything from most experiences. We’ve spent a whole lot of time making a whole lot of no progress there. You’re not alone.”

The lone bright speck for a million million miles shoots on through the cosmos, and inside it, a soft  _ clunk _ can be heard as a wooden man embraces a metal one– not lost, not found, but simply existing together, against all odds.

**Author's Note:**

> working title: ts Fucks!!!!!!
> 
> thank you to the nsfw mechscord for encouraging me


End file.
